


The Game

by randi2204



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 18:45:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2517971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezra isn't sure what game Chris is playing, but he does kind of like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Game

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** They belong to MGM, Mirisch and Trilogy, not me.

**One**

 

Ezra was nearly finished brushing his horse when he heard the distinctive chime of Chris’s spurs entering the livery stable.  He glanced up from his task, exchanged a nod and a smile, then returned to his grooming.

 

He expected Chris to saddle up his horse and head back to his ranch, but instead, the jingling continued past his horse’s stall and stopped outside Ezra’s.   Ezra straightened up. “Somethin’ I can do for you, Mister Larabee?”

 

Chris flashed a wicked grin. “Yeah, reckon so.  C’mere.” He made a beckoning gesture.

 

Ezra laid his brush aside and slapped his horse on the shoulder.  The gelding obligingly shifted to the side to allow him past.  Once he reached the stall door, Chris’s hand shot out, wrapped around the back of his neck and, while he was still too startled to react, drew him close for a kiss.

 

For a moment, Ezra closed his eyes and let Chris lead,, tilting his head as Chris’s fingers threaded into his hair, opening his mouth in response to the swipe of Chris’s tongue, getting lost in the familiar whiskey-tinged warmth of Chris’s mouth.

 

Then he caught the sound of voices, drifting in from just outside the livery door, and pulled away quick as he could, suddenly remembering where they were.  With wide eyes, he stared accusingly at Chris, gaze darting toward the stable door just as JD entered, boots thudding hollowly on the wooden floor.

 

Chris, however, was unrepentant; his eyes danced with a teasing light and his mouth – oh, that mouth! – was curved in a grin that promised all manner of things.

 

“Hey, Chris,” JD called, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on a hook outside his horse’s stall, just as Ezra had. “Ezra.” Then he grabbed one of his own brushes and set to work currying his horse.

 

“JD,” Chris said, as if the kid hadn’t just almost interrupted them.   He aimed another heated look at Ezra, grinned.  “Ezra.” Then he strode out into the afternoon sunlight.

 

Ezra couldn’t stop himself from leaning over the stall door just to watch Chris as he walked away.  _What just happened here?_ he asked himself.  Then, taking a deep breath to settle his jangling nerves, he shook his head and rolled down his shirt sleeves, setting himself to rights before pulling back on his vest and jacket.

 

As he exited the livery, he studied the length of the street, saw Chris leaning against one of the boardwalk posts.  It didn’t seem that Chris was even aware that he’d come out, but as soon as Ezra started walking down the street, that dark gaze slewed toward him, and Chris gave him that grin again.

 

Ezra’s lips twitched into a smile as he passed Chris. _Well, well,_ he thought.   _I wonder what other surprises are in store._

 

He would never have dreamed that Chris Larabee would even be interested in… indulging himself in the livery stable like that, but apparently, he was.  _Intriguing thought… but nerve-wracking all the same._

 

**Two**

 

Chris leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs beneath the table.  His gaze was fixed on Ezra as he dealt the next hand of poker.

 

And he knew Ezra knew it, too, knew he knew by the way his hands flowed over the deck, by the way he performed his fanciest cuts and shuffles, not for his fellow poker players, but for his audience of one across the saloon.

 

At his shoulder, Buck snorted and took a swallow of beer.  “Dunno what Ezra did to rile you, pard,” he said, “but you starin’ at him ain’t throwin’ him off his game atall.”

 

Chris didn’t even bother to look at him.  “Ain’t mad at him,” he replied evenly.  _Hell, no, I ain’t mad at him,_ he thought, and took a sip of whiskey.  Ezra licked his lips and grinned at the other players, and Chris settled more deeply in his chair.

 

It wasn’t long before Buck left Chris with a shake of his head and a muttered “Bullheaded bastard.”  It was a bit longer before Ezra had managed to clean out the players at his table.  The last one left with a short tip of his hat, but he wasn’t smiling.

 

It was just the two of them.  Chris stood up, chair legs scraping against the floor, and the noise made Ezra look up from collecting his winnings.

 

Those green eyes danced as they met his, some inner gleam making them seem even lighter and brighter than Chris knew they were.  Chris stopped by Ezra’s chair, and stared down at him.

 

Ezra, however, continued to be unintimidated, and dimpled up at him.  “Mister Larabee,” he greeted, standing.  Chris didn’t step back to give him any room, so they were nearly nose to nose. “Come to help me take my winnin’s up to my room?”

 

“Nope,” he replied, then stepped up against Ezra, chests brushing, and pushed him to the wall.  The next moment, his mouth covered Ezra’s; it opened beneath his, and his tongue delved inside. Ezra had been drinking whiskey, and Chris could taste the lingering smoky aftermath of it, the heat and the burn, all in his own mouth.

 

Ezra’s hands snuck under his coat, pulled him closer.  His tongue curled around Chris’s, stroked the roof of his mouth, stoked a fire in him.

 

Then there was the scuff of a booted foot on the boardwalk outside.

 

Immediately, Ezra pushed him back, panting.  In the lantern light, his lips looked puffy and his eyes were wide with desire, the black centers nearly overwhelming the green. _Well-kissed_ , Chris thought smugly and stepped away, as Ezra tugged at his vest and jacket to resettle them.

 

The player who had been the last to leave Ezra’s game pushed through the swinging doors a moment later, pausing just inside.  “Mister Standish,” he said, frowning a little.  “I’ve lost my wallet.  Did I leave it at your table?”

 

Ezra’s hand twitched, as if he wanted to brush it over his lips.  “I … don’t believe so, Mister Leighton,” he answered, voice not quite steady.  His gaze flicked to Chris and back to the man at the door.  “You are, of course, welcome to search for it.  Mister Larabee will assist you.” And with that, he pushed past Chris and up the stairs to his room.

 

Chris turned such a scowl on Mister Leighton that the man stammered an excuse and beat a hasty retreat.  Before his hurried footsteps had even faded, Chris looked thoughtfully at the stairs and grinned.  _Got him wound up now,_ he thought with satisfaction.  _Between the livery stable this afternoon and now this…_

 

He was still grinning when he pushed out the swinging doors.  Chris didn’t mind tempting fate, but teasing Ezra was a game that never got tired.

 

**Three**

 

It was a couple of days before Chris tried to initiate anything in the open again.

 

This time, it wasn’t in town, thank goodness – Ezra wasn’t sure his nerves could take another near miss quite so soon.  Ezra was riding alone out to Chris’s cabin when he saw Chris’s big black gelding grazing alongside the trail. Chris rested beneath a tree, one arm folded beneath his head, hat pulled down over his eyes.  As Ezra’s horse approached, Chris sat up, pushing his hat back.

 

He wasn’t wearing that deliciously wicked grin, but something about him still made Ezra instantly wary of what he might be thinking.

 

“Mister Larabee,” he said, pulling up along side Chris’s horse.  “Were you so worn out by the week’s activity that you needed to rest here when your domicile is just over the next hill?”

 

As soon as he’d spoken, he realized that was exactly the wrong thing to say.   That grin gave Chris’s mouth a curve that made sitting a horse a bit uncomfortable.  He managed not to shift in the saddle, but that didn’t stop Chris’s smirk from growing even wider.

 

He didn’t look away, though; Chris smiling was a sight not to be missed, despite the… discomfort it caused.

 

Instead of answering his question, Chris rose to his feet, dusted off his backside, and sauntered across to where Ezra’s horse stood.  His hand curled around Ezra’s leg, high boot and all, squeezing slightly.  “Why don’t you come on down?” he asked in return, and his tone was simply so… _lascivious_ that Ezra couldn’t control the shiver that wracked him.

 

Then, eyes holding his every moment, Chris slid his hand upward, over his thigh, further… “No one’s gonna bother us here…”

 

He opened his mouth to reply – though what he was about to say, he had no idea – then snapped it shut again at the sound of hoofbeats thundering up the trail behind him.  His horse sidled at the sudden pressure of his knees, away from Chris’s hand.

 

“Ezra! Ezra, pull up!”

 

Chris squinted up the rise behind Ezra as a horseman appeared.  “That’s Nathan.  Why’s he ridin’ so hard?”

 

Before Ezra could muster his wits for a reply, Nathan was over the crest of the hill and upon them.  “Chris! Glad you’re both here.  Trouble back in town – need you both.”

 

Ezra was sure that Chris sighed, softly enough that Nathan couldn’t hear him.  “Guess we’d better get goin’ then.” He pulled his horse’s reins free from the branch to which he’d tied them, and swung up.

 

Ezra waited until they were both ahead of him before following.  The look Chris had shot him as he passed was even more predatory than just days ago.

 

_Perhaps_ , he thought slowly, watching Chris and Nathan urge their horses faster _, it’s time I upped the ante myself._

 

**Four**

 

The look that Ezra had given him as he’d left the saloon was definitely one that Chris wanted to follow; a tilt of his head, a lick of his lips and a smile that begged to be kissed away.

 

_No,_ Chris thought, keeping Ezra’s brilliant red coat in sight, _it’s no wonder I’m chasin’ him.  ‘Specially after yesterday…_

 

Things were calmer now, but yesterday had been a right mess.  JD had gotten wind of a band of outlaws intending to rob the bank and Nathan had come barreling out of town hoping to catch Ezra… and nearly caught the pair of them.

 

_Thought we might be safe that far outside town_ , he thought, frowning slightly. _Maybe I should back off a little…_

 

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a hand grabbing hold of his arm. The hand yanked him off-balance, and he stumbled into the narrow alley between the bank and Potter’s store, nearly tripping over Ezra as he did.  “What the hell?”

 

“Hush, Mister Larabee,” Ezra said with a grin, and tugged his arm, leading him further down the alley.  “You don’t want the whole town to join us, do you?”

 

Interest piqued, Chris followed him closely, and not just because Ezra hadn’t released his grip on Chris’s sleeve.  When they reached the open end of the alley behind Potter’s store, Ezra let him go, only to push him up against the rough boards.  Ezra’s hands lingered against his chest; Chris could feel the warmth of them even through his shirt.

 

“You, sir, have been quite daring of late,” Ezra murmured, and his fingers brushed lightly over his shirt, flicking against a nipple through fabric. Chris sucked in a breath.  “I believe it’s time to repay you in kind.”

 

And with that, he leaned in, not to kiss Chris on the lips as he expected, but to press his mouth to Chris’s neck, just above the collar of his shirt.

 

Chris closed his eyes, arching into the touch, letting out his breath in an almost soundless moan.  Ezra leaned into him, teeth just grazing his neck and making him shudder with sudden need, one hand describing ever widening circles over his chest and belly and lower…

 

“Chris!  Hey, Chris!”

 

Chris frowned.  _Sounds like Billy…_

 

Ezra jerked backwards as soon as the high-pitched call registered, feet shuffling in the dirt of the alley.  Chris growled in frustration as Ezra’s touch disappeared, opened his eyes to see Ezra staring back down the way they had come, then quickly brushing at the sleeves of his coat.

 

“Chris!”  Billy’s voice grew fainter, as if he had glanced down the alley and then decided Chris was somewhere else instead.

 

Sensing his gaze, Ezra gave him the smuggest grin he could manage… which, Chris noted with satisfaction, wasn’t very smug at all.  Then Ezra touched the brim of his hat, said, “Until later, Mister Larabee,” and turned to make his way back to the main street.

 

Chris leaned his head back against the clapboards, cursing silently at his cock, half-hard in his tight pants, and wished like hell he hadn’t promised Billy they’d go fishing sometime this week. 

 

**Five**

 

Several days after he’d dragged Chris into the alley, Ezra was beginning to think he’d read the game wrong.  Chris hadn’t made a move since then, had barely looked at Ezra… though those looks had been filled with need, so hot and sultry that he could practically _feel_ Chris’s callused fingers running over his skin.

 

Chris was absent from the saloon that evening as Ezra played his nightly poker game.  While it allowed him to concentrate solely on the game, he was still disappointed; he did so enjoy catching Chris watching him from across the way.

 

And, despite the frustration that it had caused him, what Chris had begun in the livery had been… fun.  Running the risk of getting caught in public was, he discovered, somewhat addictive.  But it appeared that nearly getting caught by young Master Travis had put an abrupt end to the game.  And if it hadn’t… _Well,_ he thought, giving his fellow players a cheerful grin that was almost entirely fake, _either way, it’s still_ his _move._

 

But that frustration was still there, gave his play a ruthless edge, and, combined with his more single-minded focus, his opponents departed after only a few hands.  Solitaire had the same appeal it usually did – which was to say none – so perhaps it was natural that his attention drifted to the view from the window.

 

There was a lantern lit in the jail.  As he watched, a shadow passed in front of the light.

 

Ezra frowned.  _We don’t have any prisoners,_ he thought, picking up the array of cards.  _The few would-be bank robbers that survived were sentenced by the judge and escorted to Yuma just yesterday.  There’s no reason for anyone to be in there._

 

After another moment, the shadow passed in front of the light again, then again, back and forth, and Ezra realized that the figure was pacing.   It also started to seem familiar, and he grinned.  Slipping his cards into his pocket, he stood, settled his hat and headed across the street.

 

He didn’t bother knocking on the jail door, just pushed it open, and, as he had thought, discovered Chris.  He was no longer prowling around the jail, but sitting on the edge of the desk, legs crossed at the ankles, staring at the door expectantly.

 

Grinning wide enough to make his gold tooth flash, Ezra latched the door shut behind him.  “Well, Mister Larabee…”

 

He got no further; Chris pushed himself off the desk, covered the short distance between the desk and the door in a stride, and shoved him against it so hard it rattled in the frame.  And when it came a bare moment later, the kiss was savage, demanding, _needful_ with days of denial.

 

Ezra just opened his mouth and closed his eyes, his hands snaking under the serape Chris wore to clutch at his waist, clawing at the warm leather of his gun belt, anything to pull him closer.

 

Chris released the lapels of his coat to smooth down the brocaded front of his vest, curled over his hips.  One long leg insinuated itself between his own, and Ezra moaned into the mouth covering his.

 

The sudden thumping of a fist pounding on the door made his ears ring.  “Chris, you still there?” a most unwelcome voice called.

 

Chris was slow to pull his mouth from Ezra’s, and those strong fingers dug into his posterior, clenching hard before releasing him.  “Yeah, Josiah,” he replied, voice rough.

 

Ezra took an unsteady breath, levered Chris away from him and stepped out of the way of the door just as the latch rattled.  Josiah entered, taking off his hat, just as Ezra stooped to recover his own from where it had fallen.

 

Josiah looked at him, looked at Chris, and shook his head with a sad smile.  “Fightin’ never solved a problem,” he said in his most ponderous voice.

 

Ezra shot Chris a look from under lowered lashes, head bent as he brushed imaginary dust from his hat.  Chris certainly appeared angry – face flushed, eyes flashing, mouth turned down.  But those eyes were dark with desire, his lips puffy from that kiss.

 

“We ain’t fightin’,” Chris answered shortly.  “You’re back early.  What happened?”

 

Josiah shrugged his wide shoulders.  “Nothing happened – we just met the wagon to Yuma earlier than we thought.  Handed over them boys to the guards and headed on home.”

 

“Good.”  When Josiah made no movement to leave, just studied them with his bright blue eyes, he added in the same brusque tone, “Anythin’ else?”

 

With a sigh, Josiah shook his head again.  “Nope, that was it.”  He plopped his hat back in place.  Before he left, however, he said, “Usin’ your fists only makes things worse in the end.”  He stepped out onto the boardwalk, leaving the door open.

 

Chris managed not to slam the door, but Ezra could see from the tension in his lean body, the way his jaw jumped, that it was a near thing.

 

“Jesus Christ, this ain’t workin’,” Chris muttered, as much to the door as Ezra, before turning to study him intently.  “I’m headin’ out.  You’re comin’ with me.”

 

The game was apparently over.  Ezra forced a smile, though he knew riding out to Chris’s cabin was going to be an… interesting experience, and settled his hat back on his head.  “Lead the way, Mister Larabee.”

 

**Six**

 

Ever since the day Ezra had pulled him into the alleyway, Chris had been trying to find a way to pay him back for it, but events had always – as Ezra would say – conspired against him.  The need to keep watch on the outlaws at the jail, waiting on Judge Travis’s arrival, the trial and then transporting their prisoners to the wagon to Yuma Prison… he’d barely had a spare minute to consider what he’d like to do.  And how public he wanted it to be.

 

That was the whole reason for it – playing Ezra’s exhibitionist streak against his caution, his awareness of what others would do if they found out.  How far could he be pushed before he pushed back?

 

But somehow, he’d been willing to give up the game that day the outlaws had robbed the bank.  After that night in the saloon, Ezra had been damn skittish around him.  Not so the others might notice, but _he_ had.  As much as he liked teasing Ezra, it hadn’t been hard to give it up.

 

The thing was… in the end, the game was less important than he thought it was, so much less important than _this_ , than having Ezra’s solid form naked against him in his bed, all broad shoulders and slim hips and muscled limbs entwined with his own, matching him thrust for thrust.  The narrow bed creaked with every movement, and Ezra wouldn’t be silent, whispering cusses and encouragement into his ear whenever Chris wasn’t kissing him.

 

Then, _God,_ it was all too much, and he shuddered on a long low moan, spilling his seed between their sweat-slicked bellies.  A moment later, Ezra jerked and trembled against him, and Chris barely heard the groan muffled into his shoulder over the thunderous galloping of his own heartbeat.

 

When he had somehow caught his breath again, he nudged Ezra’s cheek with his nose.  With pleased, satisfied hum, Ezra lifted his face toward Chris’s, and Chris took his lips in a long, lazy kiss.

 

When he pulled away, Ezra’s eyes flickered open briefly, showing sated crescents of light green.  He smiled languidly, and they closed again.

 

“Wore you out?” Chris asked quietly.

 

“Hmm.”  Ezra’s hand drifted along Chris’s side, came to rest on his hip.  “Just need a short rest…”  His breath deepened and slowed into sleep.

 

_Don’t blame you,_ Chris thought, just a touch guiltily.  _Your nerves have probably been strung tight for days._   He yawned, shifted a little to settle Ezra more firmly against him.

 

Then suddenly, he felt the icy prickle down his spine that told him he was being watched.

 

He lifted his head just enough to see a familiar silhouette leaning against the door frame, barely touched by the dim light thrown by the lantern.  Even though he knew who it was, who it _had_ to be, he had to fight to keep his arms from tightening protectively around Ezra and waking him.

 

“Josiah said you were fightin’.” Vin’s voice rasped out of the darkness of the doorway.  “I reckoned I should come out, make sure everythin’ was all right.”  Chris could hear the smug bastard’s grin as he continued, “Guess it is.”  With a soft jingle of his spurs, he stepped back outside and shut the cabin door.

 

Chris sighed, a gust of air he couldn’t contain, then couldn’t help but chuckle.  _Hell,_ he thought, letting his head fall against the pillow, _all that dancin’ around in town, and we fuckin’ well get caught out here._

 

He fell asleep wondering if he could convince Ezra that they were safer in town.

 

***

October 11, 2011

**Author's Note:**

>  **Notes:** Written for the [fic_promptly](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org) prompt: "Magnificent Seven, any/any, five times they didn’t get caught, and one they did" (found [here](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/88793.html?thread=4235737#cmt4235737)).


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